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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26569171">A Whole New World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABSea/pseuds/ABSea'>ABSea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The West Wing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:41:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26569171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABSea/pseuds/ABSea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Cairo Trip? Donna didn't go. She had strep. But...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Josh Lyman/Donna Moss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Donna</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I click on the link in the middle of the page and wait for the larger image to load before staring at the screen intently, trying to visualize the rug I’ve selected in my apartment. I’ve come back to this page several times (okay, more than several) to consider all aspects of the purchase I’ll be making in a few days. It’s far more than I typically spent on an item like this, but I’ve been saving up and I think I’ve found a real bargain. I just want to make sure I pick the right one. The colors are bold but not overbearing, and the pattern is subtle enough to match a wide variety of furniture styles, should I ever get around to upgrading. </p><p>It may seem strange to be so concerned over a small throw rug, but it’s not so much the rug itself as what it represents. You see, I haven’t traveled much in my life. In fact, I’ve never left the country. But that will all change in 3 days when we fly to Egypt for a summit. </p><p>Yes, we’ll be busy working. But I’m sure I can squeeze in bit of time to get a taste of the Egyptian culture. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity that I’m not going to squander. And while I’m there, I’m going to buy a nice little rug to remember my travels. Part of me longs to have one of those eclectic houses, filled with statement pieces from faraway lands, each of them holding a significance of some kind. </p><p>Anyway, I’ve collected a few small pieces here and there. So far, most have been from our travels during the Bartlet for America campaign, and they’re among my most prized possessions. Typically my purchases are small; a watercolor print from an artist during a Santa Monica campaign stop, or a hand painted spoon rest from a ceramics shop in Albuquerque.   But this will be my first substantial purchase. The beginning of my collection. I sit up a bit taller and smile at the thought. </p><p>It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that most of the good memories that these items hold seem to revolve heavily around Josh. At first I chastised myself for finding yet another way for my happiness to stem from him, but then I realized that my happiness isn’t dependent on him, it’s that I’m happiest when he’s around. There’s a difference. And frankly, I don’t mind the subtle reminders that for most of my best days, he was standing beside me. </p><p>“What’re you doing?” I hear from directly behind me, as a chip crunches in my ear. </p><p>“Nothing.” I quickly minimize the screen and swivel in my desk chair to face him. </p><p>Josh wordlessly extends the vending machine size bag he’s holding towards me. </p><p>“No, thanks.” I wrinkle my nose and shake my head a bit. I haven’t had much of an appetite this afternoon. And I’ve got a bit of a headache too, so I won’t even scold him about his atrocious eating habits. </p><p>“Kay.” He shrugs, leaning against the wall to my cubicle. </p><p>“Is there something you need?” I ask coyly as he eyes the minimized browser window. </p><p>“Why are you shopping for rugs?”</p><p>“Because I want one,” I begin before taking a deep breath to begin a rant. The first step towards Josh losing interest in this conversation is to bombard him with details he’s not interested in. “I was thinking something with a deep blue hue would really pull my room together. You know, more of a classic look-“</p><p>“I meant why are you obsessively comparison shopping this particular area rug with every free second you can find this week?”</p><p>“Because I’m going to buy one?” I wrinkle my nose. </p><p>“How much research does the purchase of a piece of carpet require? More or less than HB74?” He smirks at me. </p><p>“I need to know what I’m looking for when I talk to the salesman,” I explain, ignoring his playful jab about shopping at work. “Because I’m going to buy an authentic, handwoven rug in Cairo next week.”</p><p>“That seems unlikely with the schedule we’re going to have to keep and the general hassle of lugging an area rug around an unfamiliar city,” he announces with a breathy burp. “Besides, Isn’t it Morocco that’s famous for the rugs?”</p><p>“I’ve got 4 hours between the last meeting and the dinner. I can slip out and do a little sightseeing and buy a rug. You won’t even know I’m gone.”</p><p>“Yeah, right,” he grumbles. “Like I’m going to let you out of my sight to go on that little excursion all alone.”</p><p>“What’s that?” I question, having heard him perfectly clearly. </p><p>“Nothing.” His eyebrows shoot up. </p><p>“Anyway,” I emphasize my first word. “I’ve never been to Morocco, and I don’t have a trip planned next week. And Persian rugs are famous for their design and their quality as well. It’s going to be a memory and an investment piece.”</p><p>“Rugs aren’t investment pieces, Donnatella,” he proclaims with a grin. “Autographed rookie cards and 30 year old bottles of scotch are investment pieces.“ </p><p>I roll my eyes, making a quip about his bachelor pad taste, less the beautiful caramel colored couch I picked out for him last year.</p><p>“Hrmph,” he gives me a non response as he wads up the now empty chip bag and tosses it in my trash can before leaning across me and grabbing the mouse. </p><p>“Hey!” I protest as he clicks to pull up the minimized window containing the information for the rug vendor.</p><p>“That’s a nice choice,” he tells me sincerely. “A timeless look.”</p><p>I have to admit that I’m a bit surprised by his lack of snark. </p><p>“But I should still fire you for shopping at work.”</p><p>Ah. There it is. </p><p>“Impervious,” I remind him, getting back to work. </p><p>“Get me the thing,” he reminds me, tapping the top of his door frame as he disappears into his own office. </p><p>I smile a bit at both his apparent good mood and the fact that he didn’t put up a fight at the thought of an excursion into Cairo. Grabbing my sweater I bundle up against the small chill I feel coming from out of nowhere and get back to typing a memo.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Leo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My deputy has lost his mind. That’s the only reasonable explanation for the series of events unfolding in front of me. </p><p>It’s 5am and my Senior Staff is bustling through the corridors with packed bags. We leave for Andrews in an hour to board Air Force One with the President for an economic summit in Cairo. It’s a quick trip but it’s all hands on deck.  </p><p>“Maybe I should stay here,” Josh wonders, and I’m honestly not sure if he realizes he’s said anything out loud. He’s staring forlornly at the outer door of my office. </p><p>I stop shuffling papers and watch him pointedly over the frame of my glasses. For the last 15 minutes he’s been working towards this in his mind. </p><p>“No.” I state pointedly. Not to be the bearer of bad news, but I need him on this trip so I’m putting an end to this now. Things have a tendency to spiral out of control quickly in this part of the building. Might as well stop that train before it comes off the tracks. </p><p>He opens his mouth to protest but I meet his gaze and he decides better of it. </p><p>“Yeah. Well, I’ll just be... in my office.” He clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets, wandering back into the corridor and out of sight. </p><p>You see, when we arrived this morning Donna showed up too sick to fly. Now, I didn’t see her myself, but it only took a few minutes for the word to travel to Margaret, who informed me that Donna was ill. </p><p>And it was about 10 minutes after Margaret’s announcement that Josh all but asked me to postpone an international summit and then scoffed when I reminded him that the Prime Minister probably didn’t schedule events depending on whether or not my deputy’s assistant was running a fever. </p><p>“How can he not like Donna? She’s from Wisconsin!” The third most powerful man in this building immediately retorted.</p><p>“Yes. She’s a good girl, Josh.” I state my agreement before he goes on a full blown rant about this topic.</p><p>You see, in the world of Josh Lyman the sun rises and sets around Donna Moss. Believe me when I tell you that’s a good thing. She’s brilliant, driven and the woman has a heart of gold. Beyond that, she really cares about Josh. And he cares about her too. I see it. I try not to most days, but at this point I’m not sure how I could miss it. </p><p>I’ve known Josh his entire life, so even though I’m his boss I try to give him some personal advice from time to time. I try to help him avoid the mistake I’ve made, and see to it that he has some sort of a personal life. He may have a workaholic reputation, but he’s beginning to find a balance when it comes to his enjoyment of time outside the office. Which is why, glancing at the clock, I decide to make my way towards his office.  Donna’s a wonderful person, and I’m genuinely sorry to hear she’s under the weather. But I can’t have my Deputy miss the motorcade and go AWOL for this trip.</p><p>I round the corner into the operations bullpen and Josh’s door is mostly closed, but I can see inside from this angle. I don’t mean to invade a private moment but the scene unfolding in front of me stops me in my tracks. Donna, who looks a little worse for wear, is curled up in Josh’s desk chair as he leans over beside her. I watch my Deputy, who is typically in constant motion, gently lean over and brush a strand of hair out of her face. He’s speaking softly to her, and while I can’t hear the words he’s saying to her the sentiment comes across loud and clear. </p><p>Yeah. He’s got it bad. </p><p>I knock softly, calling his name to announce my presence. </p><p>He tells me to come in, but doesn’t move away from where he’s hovering next to Donna. </p><p>“The motorcade is about to leave,” I tell him. “But I need you to grab your notes on  the highways bill. The President wants to call Senator Morgan from the plane.” </p><p>He glances around his desk, a bit wide eyed for only a moment. </p><p>“Green folder in your backpack,” Donna mutters without opening your eyes. “I put updated numbers from the CBO in there so look at them before you talk to Morgan.”</p><p>“Kay,” he smiles at her. </p><p>I step towards the door and nod good morning to a few passing staffers as Josh slings his bag over his shoulder. </p><p>“I’ve gotta go,” I hear him tell her. “Call me if you need anything, okay? There’s a cab on the way to take you home and I called your doctor’s office and left a message with the answering service.”</p><p>“Okay.” She agrees softly. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Get some rest. I’ll see you in 3 days,” he tells her, reaching out to softly touch her hand before joining me in the bullpen and heading towards the ellipse. </p><p>“She really wanted to go,” he admits softly. “She’s never been out of the country.”</p><p>“She’ll have another chance,” I shrug, confident that Donna’s career is only beginning. </p><p>“I hope she’s okay,” he glances back towards his office, looking physically pained at the distance he’s about to put between them. </p><p>“She‘ll be fine, son.” I pat him in the shoulder. </p><p>If it were anyone else, the Chief of Staff in me would be worried about the possible impropriety issues, but Josh’s integrity is above the board. When he eventually realizes how he feels about her, it won’t be some big scandal. I’ll make sure of that.</p><p>But I wouldn’t mind if we made it through re-election first.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Got a minute?” Josh falls into step beside me as soon as I exit my last meeting of the Egyptian summit. </p><p>“Sure,” I respond. “Nothing until the dinner tonight.”</p><p>“Great. We need to run a little errand.” </p><p>Josh remains cryptic but picks up his pace, heading towards the front of the hotel. Before I have a chance to ask him any more questions, Toby appears out of nowhere.</p><p>“He messed up the B section.” Toby states matter-of-factly while he straightens his tie.</p><p>“It was fine,” I tell him again. The president made a 10 minute written remark earlier in the day, and this is the third time I’ve heard about it.</p><p>Toby grumbles a bit, as is to be expected, before asking me for an update on next week’s speech to the National Teachers Union, and we dive into the particulars regarding the portion I wrote on the plane ride over here.</p><p>Before I know it, I’m sliding into the back of a cab and listening to Josh give some very specific instructions, written on a small piece of paper, to the driver. It’s odd that we aren’t taking the motorcade, but Josh seems to be a man on a mission. </p><p>Several minutes later, I furrow my brow and look around a bit. I was so engrossed with my conversation With Toby that I failed to ask Josh any follow-up questions. He’s been my best friend for over a decade, so I know from experience that was a rookie mistake. </p><p>“Where are we going?” I lean over and inquire. The city of Cairo is whipping past our windows at a high rate of speed.</p><p>“To buy a handwoven Persian rug,” Josh states as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. </p><p>“A rug?” I question. Surely I heard him incorrectly. Josh’s idea of home decor is a stack of old copies of the post gathering dust in a corner next to a cold cup of coffee.  </p><p>“For Donna,” he supplies.</p><p>Oh. I guess that’s enough of an explanation. I fall back into my conversation with Toby, who really hasn’t noticed my lack of involvement, and keep only half an eye out on our route.</p><p>The cab comes to a halt in front of a bustling Marketplace, at which point Toby lets out a loud, “what the hell is going on here?” Apparently, he wasn’t paying attention either. </p><p>“Rug.” I state simply, shrugging my shoulders. “For Donna.”</p><p>Toby gets the picture, but he doesn’t like it. He mutters something under his breath but keeps pace as I follow Josh through the crowd. We reach a storefront and Josh double checks a small piece of paper he’s carrying before stepping inside.</p><p>“This will just take a second,” he tells us. “I know exactly which one she wants.”</p><p>Toby and I wait by the door while Josh finds a salesman. I watch him closely as he explains something to an older gentleman who points to the far corner of the room. Josh is off and the flash and the salesman is hot on his heels. </p><p>Josh makes an odd face when he sees the pile of rugs before him and aggressively rubs his hands through his hair. I make my way over to join him, staring at a small, doormat sized rug. </p><p>“What’s the problem,” I ask. </p><p>“That’s it.” He points. “The one she was looking at. But the guy said it’s not handwoven. It’s their budget collection, which is probably why she selected it, but it could be made in any textile mill in the world. It’s not her handwoven rug.”</p><p>“Well...” I begin to tell him that I’m sure she will still love it, but I’m cut off. </p><p>“What else do you have?” Josh asks them man. “Hand knotted. A statement piece. She likes blue.”</p><p>I see the twinkle in the salesman’s eye as he realizes he’s got a live one.</p><p>The older man leads us towards the front of the store, going on in great detail about the hand knotted options available. </p><p>“This one seems nice,” I note, looking at a comparable rug to the one Donna had originally picked out. </p><p>“It’s too small.” Josh shakes his head. “The room will engulf it.”</p><p>“But if she-“ I’m once again cut off. </p><p>“I’m looking for something closer to this.” Josh points towards a rug that’s approximately the size of Donna’s entire living room, which earns another sideways glance from me. </p><p>“Excellent choice,” the salesman commends as I roll my eyes. I’m going to guess he works on commission. </p><p>“This could work,” Josh thinks out loud as I stare at him, wondering what in the hell he could possibly be thinking. “It’s the blue color she wanted, but it’s not too busy. And it matches my new couch.”</p><p>“Wait.” I interject. “I thought this was for Donna’s place.”</p><p>“Yeah, but this will hold up for years. And we’ll probably end up living in my brownstone,” he states, flipping over the price tag, which makes even my eyes go wide. </p><p>“Oh. That explains the 11x15,” I find myself muttering. </p><p>Wait. What? Backup a little bit.</p><p>I shoot Josh a questioning look. </p><p>“What?!” Toby clarifies verbally. </p><p>“What?” Josh asks, pulling out his credit card. </p><p>Huh. I was beginning to wonder if Josh was the only one that didn’t know. I guess he figured it out.</p><p>Toby and I exchange glances, but he’s pulled away by his ringing cell phone. He steps outside to take the call as Josh and I stand. The rug is rolled up and wrapped tightly with string for transport. </p><p>“Thank you,” he tells the salesman. “Just have it delivered to this hotel,” Josh hands over a business card, scrawling his name across the back for a point of reference. </p><p>“No, sir. We don’t deliver,” Josh is informed. </p><p>The three of us squabble back and forth a bit before Josh and I realize we’re fighting a losing battle. </p><p>“Fine. Grab the other end,” Josh instructs me. “We have to hurry. We’re already cutting it close for the state dinner.”</p><p>He’s right about that so I don’t protest, letting out a groan as the weight of the rug catches me by surprise. I’m glad Toby’s outside here to help us carry this thing.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Toby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’ve got to be kidding me. </p><p>Josh and Sam just emerged from the store with an area rug that I am confident cost more than my car. </p><p>“Give us a hand, will you?” Sam requests. </p><p>“You didn’t want to spring for delivery?” I glare at Josh, shooing one of the many stray cats away in the process. They’ve everywhere in this part of town, and I’ve been allergic since I was a kid. My eyes are already puffing and I can’t stop sneezing. </p><p>“It was a whole thing,” he obfuscates. “And if we don’t get a move on it we’re going to be late to dinner.”</p><p>I’d challenge him but he’s right. We are going to be late. And considering we’re halfway across Cairo on some hair brained mission to buy a rug, I’m going to be efficient about this and yell at him while we walk. </p><p>I grab the middle of the rug and the three of us awkwardly boost it up to shoulder level before we begin to navigate the way back to the cab stand. I sneeze again. Damn, this thing is heavy. </p><p>Josh makes several failed attempts to hail a cab before my frustration seeps to the surface once again. I step away from the rug, momentarily disassociating myself from the circus act on the curb that the White House senior staff has momentarily become. A small, white car stops almost immediately and I beckon the other two over. </p><p>They make their way over while I brush some cat hair off of my suit pants leg and sneeze twice more. </p><p>The driver realizes what’s happening as Josh and Sam approach, and begins to shout in Arabic, waving us away, at the same time I realize that the mathematical dimensions of the giant rug and the compact car aren’t going to work out for the three of us. As our best option to  make it back to the hotel speeds away, a local man takes sympathy on us and offers a word of advice. </p><p>“They’re not going to allow you to put that in a cab,” he tells us. “You’ll have to take the bus. That one will take you to the main station. You can catch another from there.”</p><p>The three of us turn as he points to a jam packed city bus at the end of the sidewalk. </p><p>“Thank you.” Sam offers with a polite nod. </p><p>“A bus.” I repeat with a cold chuckle. “Because I’m not already irritated enough with the two of you, now we have to figure out how to navigate the transit system?!”</p><p>“It’ll be fine, Toby.” Sometimes Sam’s optimism grates on my last nerve. This is one of those times. </p><p>It’s at that exact moment when I hear the familiar sound of the bus’ engine roar to life, pulling away from the curb. </p><p>“Wait!” Josh shouts, wildly waving his hands. </p><p>The driver doesn’t even slow down, which is probably just as well considering I don’t think they could have squeezed another paperclip onto that bus, let alone the 3 of us and this damn rug. </p><p>I grumble and Sam sighs as we lug our collective belonging to the stop in anticipation of the next bus. </p><p>To all of our relief, we set down the rug which is wrapped in plastic, waiting at the corner. </p><p>Josh’s phone rings, and he steps away a few paces to take the call, which is pretty clearly Donna. He’s been a neurotic mess, checking in on her. She’s home with strep and even though she’s assured CJ that she’s fine, Josh is acting as though the world is going to come crashing down at any second. That, I suppose is hardly surprising. Though I typically despise the idea of being involved in someone's personal life, I am glad to see that Josh may be coming to terms with the way he so clearly feels about Donna. Besides, I know it’s not a one sided attraction. I see the way she looks at him. And I was in the waiting room that night at GW.</p><p>“Oh! Hey! Look!” I’m pulled from my thoughts by Sam, who is looking a bit too chipper given the circumstances, having a conversation with a man selling traditional brightly colored Nubian hats. </p><p>He reaches for one and begins to turn towards me. “Toby you should-“ </p><p>“Put it down. Put it down now.” I don’t even let him finish the thought before I interject with my refusal and shoot him a glare to let him know I mean business. </p><p>Properly chastised, Sam returns to his quiet exchange with the merchant. I roll my eyes when I see him make a purchase. </p><p>“Let’s go,” I bellow towards my friends as I see a bus approaching in the distance. We gather the rug and struggle onto the bus with the rest of the crowd, finding a spot in the back. </p><p>The bus stops to load and unload passengers what seems to be every block. 25 minutes later, when I’m absolutely sure we’ve passed the same building for a 3rd time, I let out a groan. </p><p>“We’re on the wrong damn bus line,” I announce. </p><p>“Are you sure?” Josh questions, wiping the sweat from his forehead in a futile effort to keep himself somewhat together on the air conditioned bus. </p><p>“He may be right,” Sam agrees, squinting out the window. </p><p>“Yes I’m sure. I think I know a building when I see it several times in a row!”</p><p>“What should we do?” Sam wonders out loud. </p><p>“You can start by taking off that hat,” I can’t help but to hit back. </p><p>“We should get off at the next major stop,” Josh announces. “And regroup.”</p><p>I protest, not seeing how that will help the situation, but before anyone has a chance to come up with a better plan, the doors fly open and off the bus we go. </p><p>“Great. So now we’re on a different street with no idea where we are and still no cabs large enough to transport the three of us.”</p><p>“There’s a bus map right over there.” Josh announces. “I’ll figure out where we need to go.”</p><p>“I think you’ve done enough.” I tell him, walking pointedly towards the map and hoping I can decipher where we need to go. </p><p>I stare at the routes, and realize that we have not only ridden in a circle for the last half hour, but we also elected to get off of the bus at the farthest possible point from our destination. </p><p>I take out a pen and jot down a few items, hoping we can make it back to the hotel as quickly as possible. It’s safe to say we’re going to be late, but if we can catch a break we’ll be there before anyone really notices. </p><p>“We’ll get on the blue line,” I announce. “I think it’ll be here in 15 minutes.”</p><p>“Outstanding!” Sam announces. “Looks like things are breaking our way.”</p><p>At that moment, the skies open up in a downpour of rain like I’ve never seen before. </p><p>“I thought we were supposed to be in the middle of the desert!” I raise my voice to no one in particular. </p><p>“It’s monsoon season.” Sam advises me, still in an astonishingly good mood. “You should have bought a hat to keep your head dry.”</p><p>I give him a stare that wipes the smile right off of his face. </p><p>There is literally no one in the world that I don’t hate right now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. CJ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I pull out my phone and dial Sam once more. I’ve been looking for the guys for the last 20 minutes. We’re supposed to be meeting in the ballroom at the top of the hour and they’re nowhere to be found. I’ve got a few changes to the seating arrangement and I was hoping to give Sam a heads up. </p><p>When the call goes to voicemail again, I try Toby before quickly remembering his cell is on the fritz. </p><p>I punch speed dial 6 for Josh, assuming that the conspicuous absence of all 3 of them means they’re together. I hope I didn’t miss out on something fun. </p><p>“CJ!” He sounds pleased to hear from me. That’s a good sign. </p><p>“Where are you?” I cut right to the chase. </p><p>“Ah... fair question.” </p><p>He sounds apologetic, which immediately puts me on guard. </p><p>“What did you do?” I cross my arms and wait for his explanation. </p><p>Thirty seconds later I’ve heard all that I can take. And even though Toby is ranting in the background, I cut off Josh’s story before it can get much worse. </p><p>“Give me your location,” I tell him. “Or something notable around you.”</p><p>He describes what seems to be a fairly major landmark and I make my way to the front desk. </p><p>“Don’t move,” I instruct him. I’m sending a suburban from the motorcade to pick you up.”</p><p>“Why didn’t we think of that,” he wines. </p><p>“I don’t know, idiot boy,” I toy with him. “Why didn’t you?”</p><p>I give the information to one of the agents at the front that is familiar with the area. He assures me he knows exactly where the three of them are from Josh’s description, which is nothing short of a miracle. </p><p>This, I think to myself, is why we send Donna when he travels. </p><p>“Hurry up when you get here. We can’t be missing 3 staffers at the reception. And you’re going to have to be in charge of your own belongings. Something came up at home and we’re flying back to DC tonight, but advance has already left with our luggage to load the plane.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Josh is immediately on edge. “Donna’s okay, right?”</p><p>I very nearly laugh. </p><p>“Yes, I’m sure Donna is fine. Believe it or not the early departure of a presidential delegation has nothing to do with your assistant’s strep throat.” I pause for a moment as a gentle smile crawls across my face. “You are very sweet though.”</p><p>He doesn’t say much in return so I bluntly remind him to hurry and end the call, rushing off to find Leo and buy them a bit more time if I can. </p><p>Once we’re changed back into travel clothing and loaded onto Air Force One, I have a moment to breathe again. I’m exhausted but honestly, I’m glad we’re flying back tonight. There’s something about sleeping in your own bed. </p><p>I’m making my way down the aisle towards the press corps when I’m stopped by Trevor Warner from The Sun, who asks me why he spotted 3 senior staffers soaking wet arguing over what appeared to be the same package that’s stowed away under his seat.</p><p>“I’ll have to get back to you,” I begin to deflect, leaning to the side a bit to see what he’s talking about.</p><p>“It‘s an area rug.” Sam chimes in from behind me. “Josh bought it. And we had to go to the other side of the city to pick it up.”</p><p>I raise an eyebrow at him as the press shouts a myriad of questions about the odd adventure. </p><p>Rather than answering each individually he scans the seating area and shrugs. “It’s for Donna.”</p><p>The reporters give a collective “ah” of understanding. </p><p>I shake my head at the strange level of understanding between the White House reporters and the Josh and Donna non-situation situation, but I’m glad this is a battle I don’t have to fight today. Don’t get me wrong, if they ever figure it out I’ll be over the moon for my friends. But I wouldn’t complain if they figured it out during the second term, either. </p><p>I quickly follow Sam to the private cabin for Senior Staff and slip inside, closing the door behind me. </p><p>Toby is brooding over a heavy pour of Jack Daniels and Josh is flopped back on the couch with his eyes closed.</p><p>“Well if it isn’t Cairo’s most notorious team of bargain hunters.” I throw it out there to see if they’ll bite. I’m still not quite sure about the story of their conspicuous absence and a cross town trek for an area rug, but one of them will probably clue me in eventually. </p><p>Toby mutters something under his breath and Josh doesn’t respond, cracking one eye open to look over at me. </p><p>“Oh, it was no bargain,” Sam laughs. “But I did get a great buy on a hat.”</p><p>“Would you shut up about the hat already?” Toby asks, though I honestly think he’s on the verge of laughing. </p><p>“Why an area rug?” I inquire to no one in particular.</p><p>“She wanted one.” Josh chimes in without getting up.</p><p>“It’s an 11x15 authentic Persian rug,” Sam informs me, twisting the top of his seltzer water.</p><p>“11x 15?” I question. “That’s approximately the size of Donna’s entire apartment.”</p><p>“Sometimes, you have to go out on a limb,” Josh states cryptically.</p><p>I have no idea what that means, but before I can ask Sam sits down next to me and chimes in again. “It’s hand knotted, and beautifully made. A true artisan piece.”</p><p>I don’t know much about interior design, but I’m sure a purchase like that must have taken a chunk out of Josh’s wallet. There’s more to the story but I’m too exhausted to open up this particular can of worms tonight. </p><p>“Well,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “She’s a lucky woman. I flew all the way to Egypt and all I got was a potpourri holder.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Josh</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I hand the cab driver a generous tip and thank him for his help carrying the rug up the stairs. Taking a deep breath I decide I can’t wait another moment and I knock on her door. </p><p>It’s 3:48 am and I came straight here from The White House after we landed. I see the light flood out from under her threshold and I can hear her shuffling around inside. The locks click and she groggily opens the door. </p><p>“Josh? Are you okay?”</p><p>Her nose is red and she’s got a serious case of bedhead. She’s gorgeous. </p><p>“I’m fine,” I answer dumbly. “How are you?”</p><p>She stares at me for a beat and blinks a few times. </p><p>“It’s the middle of the night,” she announces, as if I might not be aware. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I brought you something from Cairo.” I step aside and point to my seasoned travel companion: the rug.</p><p>“What is that?” Her eyes go wide. </p><p>“It’s your rug,” I announce proudly, bouncing a bit with excitement as I watch her. </p><p>“My… what?” She’s confused.</p><p>“The rug you were going to buy in Cairo. I bought it for you. Well, it’s not exactly the same rug, but it’s similar. I think you’ll like it.”</p><p>“Josh… this is… I…” She’s speechless, and I smile at the realization. I’m off to a good start.</p><p>“Hold the door,” I tell her, “I’ll bring it inside.”</p><p>She steps out of the way and I heave the behemoth inside, trying not to let on to how much I’m struggling to maneuver it. I grab the scissors she keeps in the kitchen drawer and open the packaging, unrolling it a few feet.</p><p>“Josh, it’s gorgeous. But it’s too much… it’s…” she gasps. “Oh my god.”</p><p>“What?” I whip my head to see what she’s looking at and mentally kick myself for not taking off the price tag. </p><p>“I can’t take this.” She tells me quietly. </p><p>“What if I want you to have it? What if I want you to have a rug with a story for your collection?”</p><p>“How do you know about that,” she asks as though she’s surprised I know about her travel purchases. I pay careful attention, even if people tend to think I don’t.</p><p>I shrug in response. I’m not sure where to begin.</p><p>She throws her arms around me in a hug and the prior 24 hours, and the expedition to purchase the rug all wash away. This is worth every second on an unairconditioned bus riding around Egypt with Toby.  </p><p>Eventually she steps away. I let her go, but I find I don’t want to. </p><p>“Seriously though, Josh. I can’t accept this.” She stares at the carpet. </p><p>“Donna.” I try again, sitting down on the hand knotted rug. “I want you to have it.”</p><p>“But…”</p><p>“No buts,” I softly insist, patting the spot next to me. She sits down and pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.</p><p>She’s silent for a moment, and I don’t interrupt. I can tell by the look on her face she’s trying to work through this in her mind. For reasons that surpass my understanding it’s difficult for her to comprehend that she’s deserving of expensive gifts. It’s something I’m going to continue to work on with her. </p><p>“What about our financial disclosure forms,” she asks. </p><p>This is it. The moment of truth. I take a deep, steadying breath. </p><p>“Well, what if you keep the rug at my place?”</p><p>She turns to look at me, and I’m confronted with how badly I want this, but how much I need to know she honestly wants it too. I mean, we’ve bantered and flirted and done all that we do for years but, I need to hear it. </p><p>“You want me to keep this area rug at your place.” She recaps. </p><p>“Yes.” I swallow. “I think that would be best for everyone for the time being. Specifically, until after re-election, I thought maybe we could talk about keeping the rest of your belongings there too.”</p><p>She gives me a soft smile, and it’s the glimmer of hope I need to keep going. </p><p>“There’s no pressure. It’s yours either way. And if you don’t want the rug, I’ll respect that too. I’d never want you to feel like you had to, ya know, keep the rug. But I just want you to… at least know it’s there.” I shift uncomfortably. It’s difficult for me to put my feelings into words like this. “It’s just, I never imagined I’d find anything that fits into my life so perfectly. But one day, completely out of the blue, there it is. And it  just... belongs. And I know that I’m no good at stuff like this. And maybe it’s not even what you’re looking for. But I’m certain that I’ve never been happier in my life.”</p><p>Her eyes are shiny when I’m done speaking. She knows I’m not talking about the rug anymore. </p><p>“The second term is three years away,” she states softly.</p><p>“It is.” I nod. </p><p>“But the rug is here now.” She states, deflecting from the conversation that we’ve both convinced ourselves we’re not allowed to have. </p><p>“Tonight is different. I wanted to show you.”</p><p>“But we aren’t… unrolling anything.” She grins. “It’s just a sample viewing.”</p><p>I smile softly at her, but before I have the chance to say anything else she gently presses her lips to mine.</p><p>I linger there for a moment, my heart practically bursting at the message I know she’s sending me. It’s a promise of a lifetime to come. It’s an understanding that we’re going to build a future together when the time is right. It’s a hint of what’s to come for us. </p><p>She pulls away before anything progresses, completely in sync with the way we both know this has to go. </p><p>Tomorrow, we’ll go back to normal, or at least what’s considered normal for us. But right now, I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head, leaning back on our new rug.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks to kcat1971 for the encouragement to post this</p></blockquote></div></div>
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